In which the devil-may-care sellsword cannot resist engaging in the ever-present game of flirting and witts with the bastard daughter of Tyrion Lannister, only to realise that the second he laid eyes on her - he was already in too deep.
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BRONN HAD TO ADMIT feeling slightly miffed when Lydiah had left him with a band of Lannister soldiers crowded around a spit roast, partly because it seemed like he was a bothersome child she didn't need running around her feet and was trying to pawn off; and partly because he had been around the world and back and known so many women along the way, short, tall, curvy, skinny, tanned, pale, ugly and beautiful but none had ever knocked the breath out of him like she had when she marched defiantly into that tent, her mouth set and eyes ablaze.
He wasn't much of a sucker for pretty faces, but the God's had been crafty when they carved her. The innocence of those cerulean blue eyes contrasted with her deliciously full lips that would only ever inspire impure thoughts. Her shape wasn't well-hidden by those pesky silks either, the curve of her pert bottom easy to spot but as her skirt flowed out it left her long legs completely to his imagination – which he had to bring to heel because an all-too-familiar itch had started coming from his trousers.
But written all over, from her clean, unblemished skin and long, golden hair to her automatedly poised posture and the elegant tilt to her chin was that she was also everything someone like him could ever gaze at from a distance, never close enough to touch.
It wasn't enough for him to spend any time wringing his hand's over the matter, but there was a distinct sour twinge of loss as she would definitely be a fuck to remember, that lilting voice that carried honey, summer and the sweet taste of wine in its wake would certainly sound good screaming his name. A memory like that – with a woman like that – would be one for him to carry across black oceans and to hold on to for lonely nights.
But there was no use wasting his time daydreaming about things that were out of reach, even for him. If she were a lowborn kitchen girl he would've taken her three times over by now, but she wasn't and she would surely shrink away from his hands staining her golden body. As soon as he reminded himself that she would likely reel back from his touch and that he should simply forget all of his creeping fantasies because they would only take up room in his head, a dark recess of his mind spoke up, flashing the image of her eyes studying his form with an unequivocal note of desire.
He almost snorted out loud, that was right before she noticed him watching her and she hurriedly turned away almost looking offended. It didn't cause him any pain though, he'd come to terms with the reality long ago; a highborn would never have anything more than a fleeting interest in that of a lowlife sellsword. But even though he'd accepted the fact it didn't make him abandon the hope that she would return to check up on everything, even if it was so he could only admire her from a distance.
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It was still the dark hours of the early morning when a collection of shouts, grunts and the grating sound of metal-on-metal roused Lydiah from a deep sleep. Blinking quickly to help her eyes adjust, she heard the unmistakable noise of a man choking on his own blood and suddenly felt very awake.
